


Through The Forest

by WriterJunkie



Series: Tales of Clarke Griffin The Vampire Hunter [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 1846 england, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Clexa Halloween Week, F/F, Meet-Ugly, Vampire Hunter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-08-08 14:36:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16431299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterJunkie/pseuds/WriterJunkie
Summary: World renown vampire hunter, Clarke Griffin is  hired to investigate the mysterious death of several farm animals and two farmhands during her stay in London. The more she stays around to help the people the more she finds something bigger is a state.[COMPLETE]





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't had inspiration to work on my fencing fic, so I decided to work on something else. This was supposed to be a one shot, but once it got close to the 7k word count mark the more I see it's going to have to be put into parts to avoid having people read a 22k word count in one shot again. lol
> 
> This is a prequel for a bigger fic I have in mind, but since this is shorter I'll be posting this up first on how Clarke and Lexa met.

Clarke shivered, gripping at the edges of her red cloak as she looked out the window of her carriage. She inhaled the fresh winter cold air. The smoke and foul odor air of London long gone. A radiant blue glow of the night's moon reflecting off the crisp white blanket of snow on the ground. Clarke rattled side to side in the carriage as the horses clomped on to uneven terrain in their path. The bumpy dirt road smoothed out steadily as she made out the flickering fire glow of the village ahead of her from the window. The carriage stopped in front of the village post sign reading in black curled lettering Polis Village. The driver of the carriage hopped down and opened the door.

“Here we are miss.” He said.

“Thank you George.” Clarke said.

He tucked his head down, shuffling his tattered black hat, and held out a hand. He glanced at Clarke briefly, his thin brows knitted together into a frown at the bridge of his nose. He lead Clarke safely from the ledge.

“Oh I wouldn't...This farmland hasn't exactly gained a good reputation, miss. There are rumors going about, of a beast stalking them at the dead of night.” George said, tucking his shivering hands into his trench coat pockets. “You best be careful, miss.”

Clarke smiled, pulling her suitcase out from the carriage. She adjusted the leather satchel hanging at the side of her hip.

“I'm aware, but that is also exactly why I'm here.” She said. “Thank you George get back safe.”

She handed George two silver pieces before leaving. Clarke shuffled through the snow, finding a narrow passage carved to her left, the flaps of her striking crimson red cloak billowing through the wind and contrasting against the snow. Clarke grind her teeth together to weakly brace the cold, before she cut through the dirt path. All the houses are small huts with chicken wire fences to keep in cows, goats, sheep, chickens, and horses, and the lights are off except for a towering wood and brick building called Nigel's Tavern on it's hanging sign out front. The bell above the door jingled as Clarke pushed through the threshold. On the opposite end of the room, stood a bald man with a scruffy grey and white bear and thick bushy eyebrows. His face pale and gaunt with a scar along his left cheek. Clarke approached his desk.

“Hello, welcome to Nigel's. I am Nigel Baker.” He said.

“I'd like to rent a room tonight and have your heartiest stew please.” Clarke said.

Nigel nodded, saying, “Goat stew is our speciality.”

“Please.” Clarke said.

Nigel stepped out from behind the desk. Clarke rubbed her hands together, trying to bring back the heat in the tips of her fingers.

“Have a seat. It will be a moment. I've already sent my barmaid and cook home.” He said.

Clarke sat on the nearest table, watching Nigel retrieve into the kitchen behind the desk. Clarke examined the tavern, lowly lit from several oil lanterns centered in the table and the center flaring a fireplace with glowing coals and wood. The door to the kitchen squeaked open and Nigel exited with a wooden bowl and a pint of beer on his left hand. He placed them in front of Clarke.

“I'll get your key.” He said.

Clarke hungrily scooped up the stew and savored the tender meat and potatoes. She scooped up another spoonful of turnips and carrots. Nigel handed her a metal key from underneath his desk.

“Here you are, room 5, second floor.” Nigel said. “Would you like me to carry your luggage?”

Clarke's hand clenched around the handle of her leather suitcase.

“That won't be necessary, thank you Mr. Baker.” Clarke said.

“Please, call me Nigel.” He said. “If you don't mind me asking miss, why are you in a village like this? Everyone heads to the city and well, Polis Village doesn't get many visitors.”

Clarke put down her spoon and took a swig of her beer.

“I am Clarke Griffin. I have been hired here by Lord Gustus Thomas.” Clarke said. “To investigate the livestock mutilations and the death of two farmhands.”

Nigel scoffed.

“Well I'll be, that oaf finally got in contact with another one?” Nigel said.

Clarke raised a brow.

“He's hired a hunter before?” Clarke said, watching Nigel nod.

“The twit couldn't find his own head if it were not attached.” Nigel said. “He spent last month here before convincing us we had nothing to worry about.”

“I can assure you Mr. Baker, I am far more adequate at what I do than any hunter you have ever seen.” Clarke said.

Nigel scoffed and shrugged.

“At this point we are desperate. We could use all the help we can get.” Nigel said. “I would not expect a woman this time and one as young as you. You're – ”

“Yes, I'm quite young for my age, but I am also very well read about all beast.” Clarke said. “Looks can be deceiving Mr. Baker, much like the monsters that hunt the locals.”

“Right miss, I didn't mean...I appreciate your assistance. Please, stay as long as you need.” Nigel said.

“Lord Gustus has informed me there was a farmer that found the recent farmhand that has been attack last week?” Clarke said.

“That would be Issac Harper.” Nigel said. “He lives three houses down.”

“Thank you for your time Mr. Baker.” Clarke said.

Nigel nodded, walking back behind the desk. Clarke finished her meal and pint before heading to bed with her suitcase tightly in her hand.

 

***

Clarke is up at noon, having slept in longer than she expected, but the two day travel through London and to the countryside had been much more tiring than she expected. She changed into a fresh set of clothing and tied her wheat blonde hair into a braid before leaving her room. She can hear the chatter of people on her way down the stairs.

“Good morning Ms. Griffin. What can I get you?” Nigel said.

“Eggs, bacon, a biscuit, and some tea please.” Clarke said.

She turned around to see a dozen curious eyes on her while she made her way to the table. They look away when Clarke gazes back at them, eating the rest of their breakfast. Clarke spotted a younger girl sitting at the table across from her. She smiled at Clarke, her smile innocent and youthful much like her soft rounded chin and button nose.

“Hi.” She said, her blue eyes shimmering.

She shifted closer to the table.

“My name's Ellie.” She said.

Clarke smiled.

“Hello Ellie. I'm Clarke.” She said.

Her brows scrunched toward together, before saying, “Are you the one everyone has been talking about?”

Clarke chuckled. Word traveled quickly in a small village such as this.

“Yes, I'm here to help.” Clarke said.

A woman served Clarke her food.

“Here you are, Ms. Griffin.” She said. “We haven't met, but I'm Olivia. I help serve food and drinks with Uncle Nigel.”

“Thank you. Does everyone know I'm here now?” Clarke said.

Olivia laughed and nodded.

“You're the talk of the town.” She said. “Left quite an impression on Uncle Nigel.”

“Olivia, I have more orders to send out.” Nigel said.

“Enjoy your stay Ms. Griffin.” Olivia said. “Ellie, I'm sure your father is waiting for you to tend to the farm now, isn't he?”

Ellie sighed, saying, “Yes.”

Ellie left the table, rushing out the door. Olivia headed back into the kitchen.

***

Clarke approached Issac Harper's home straight after breakfast. She looked over the hut, a small thin window with wooden shutters. She knocked and watched an older woman with brown locks and a apron around her waist open the door.

“Can I help you?” She said.

“I'm Clarke Griffin. I'm looking to speak with Issac Harper.” Clarke said.

“Come in, he's just getting ready to tend to the stables.” She said, stepping aside. “Issac, you have a guest.”

Clarke shuffled through the tiny space, stopping at the kitchen that doubled as a living space as a tall broad shoulder man with blonde short hair tended to the fire across the kitchen table. He stood up from the floor, putting aside the poker and approached Clarke. Stomp from upstairs bounced through the hut and Ellie jumped down to the last step and smiled.

“Clarke!” She said.

“Hello Ellie.” Clarke said.

“You two have met?” Mrs. Harper said, from the kitchen.

“Ellie was at the tavern this morning as I came down for breakfast.” Clarke said.

Mrs. Harper sighed.

“Ellie, I've told you to leave Nigel alone. I've made you breakfast this morning.” Mrs. Harper said.

“But Nigel gives me free cookies.” Ellie said.

“Ellie, tend to the livestock for a moment, would you?” Issac said.

“Yes sir.” Ellie droned, exiting the hut.

“Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?” Issac said. “Tea? Spiced rum?”

“I'm quite alright, thank you Mr. Harper.” Clarke said.

They sat at the kitchen table. Mrs. Harper handed Issac a cup of tea with a plate of scones. She sat next to Issac.

“What can I do for you?” Issac said.

Clarke fished out a notebook from her satchel and a quill and ink well.

“I'm sure you've heard, but I have been sent to investigate the strange happenings in the village.” Clarke said. “I've been informed that you were the one to find the second farmhand?”

Issac took a sip from his cup.

“That's correct.” He said.

Clarke dipped her quill into the ink well and scribbled on her book.

“I will need to interview everyone in your home separately, but I will need general information of the situation.” Clarke said. “How many people are in your family, Mr. Harper?”

Issac rubbed a hand down his freshly shaven beard and sighed.

“There is my wife Elizabeth and my two daughters Ellie and Lexa.” Issac said.

Clarke glanced up from her notes.

“I haven't met Lexa.” She said.

“She doesn't tend to the farm like the rest of us. She works as a cook at Nigel's tavern and early in the morning she helps the village fisherman, William Snow.” Issac said. “She helps haul the fish into crates so he can sell in London. In return, he gives us fish and we trade him warm milk and chicken eggs. Lexa is rarely home except to sleep.”

Clarke nodded, dipping her quill again into the ink.

“Where was the farmhand when you found him?” Clarke said.

Issac frowned, cringing at the bitter memory and took a gulp of his tea.

“A couple paces from my stables, Saturday morning.” He said.

“And the first farmhand?” Clarke said.

“William found him face down in the river from his shed.” Issac said. “It was an awful sight. I helped him move the body.”

“And as for the animals, how many have been found mutilated?” Clarke said.

“In the past two months this village has lost two cows, three goats, and two horses.” Issac said. “Personally, I've lost only one goat and my farmhand.”

Clarke gazed back at him with an arched brow, her quill still against the page.

“Everyone has lost an animal on the farm?” She said.

Issac nodded.

“How frequent are the attacks?” Clarke asked.

Issac paused, mauling over the past events and shrugged.

“I can't say for certain, but it has to be at least twice a week.” Issac said. “It's been going on for two months now.”

“Have you or anyone in your family seen or hear anything unusual during the attacks?” Clarke said.

Issac clenched his jaw, turning away. Elizabeth rested a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it.

“Tell her dear.” She said.

Issac sighed, his shoulders dropping.

“The first I heard it, the cows were attack.” He said. “The home next to me and it sounded like growling, but it wasn't a dog, nor a wolf. It sounded larger, more fierce, and barbaric.”

Issac took another gulp of tea, his hand squeezing the handle and he shook his head.

“I-It's silly.” He huffed.

“No, I've heard it too.” Elizabeth said. “Everyone is denying it, but whatever it is has everyone in the village terrified.”

Issac scoffed.

“Because believing something like that would be silly.” He insisted.

“And what do you think it is that would be too foolish to believe, Mr. Harper?” Clarke said.

Issac glanced down at the table, his fingers tapping against the surface. He shook his head then looked back at her.

“A monster of some kind.” He said. “But that can't be, it's a childish nightmare.”

Clarke finished writing in her book and put the quill down, a hand propped up on the table .

“I believe you, Mr. Harper.” Clarke said. “Whatever it may be, I will get to the bottom of this.”

Clarke closed her notebook and stuffed her belongings back into her satchel.

“Thank you for your time.” Clarke said, standing.

“Is that it?” Elizabeth said, approaching Clarke.

“I will need to interview everyone in the village further, but yes, I'm done for now.” Clarke said. “I'll also need to see the bodies.”

Elizabeth flinched.

“What – ”

“The deaths were only two weeks ago.” Issac said. “It would be too gruesome to see them.”

“I insist, Mr. Harper. I need to make sure this attack was normal or otherworldly like this community seems to believe.” Clarke said. “I have seen many grotesque things in my line of work. These bodies would be no different.”

Issac bit his bottom lip, clearing his throat and nodded.

“Alright, you'll have to speak with the village's grave-keeper, Jasper Jordan.” Issac said. “He's at the end of the dirt road across the river. He lives alone, but something isn't right with him Ms. Griffin. He's been a bit loony since the death of his parents.”

“Thank you Mr. Harper. If you have any further questions please come see me, or if you have anymore information to share I will be staying at the tavern.” Clarke said. “Good day.”

 

***

The travel to the grave-keeper is quiet and creepy as most of the trees haven't been touched here. But she walked the slim trail of dirt through the forest and in the distance, surrounded by an iron cast fence and a massive patch of grass, Clarke saw the graveyard house. The hut itself is humble and tiny, but the yard encasing it lined with flowers and headstones. She opened the gate door and walked through the graves, before knocking on the hut porch she picked up voices from behind the door.

“How could you live like this? It's freezing in here Jasper!” One man said.

Clarke knocked as she heard shuffling and glass clinking through the hut. The footsteps stopped for a moment and shifted toward the door. A man with a freshly shaven head and dark circles stood in the door with nothing but a flimsy long sleeve shirt and breeches. He glared at Clarke.

“What?” He said.

“Jasper Jordan?” Clarke said.

The man laughed.

“What is with your cloak? You look like little red.” He said.

“Jasper.” A second man said, rushing toward the door with a pile of empty bottles on one arm. “Hi, Monty Green. Do you need anything?”

“I need to ask Mr. Jordon a few questions for my investigation.” Clarke said.

“Come on. Sit.” Monty said, returning back to the mess in the hut. “Excuse the mess.”

Clarke sat on the couch as Monty franticly moved about collecting empty bottles of rum. Jasper sat on the floor in the corner, falling asleep.

“Jasper, start a fire.” Monty said.

Jasper groaned and stood, pulling out another bottle from the crate next to him. He took out a cup and offered it to Clarke.

“No thank you.” She said.

Jasper shrugged and put the cup back before drinking from the bottle. Monty tossed the empty bottles into a separate crate and sighed as he stacked pieces of wood into the fire place.

“Jasper!” Monty complained.

“What?” Jasper said.

“She's here to speak with you.” Monty said, pointing toward Clarke.

“What do you want?” Jasper said. “Has someone else died?”

Monty scoffed, striking a match above a piece of flint.

“I will keep this brief.” Clarke said. “I need to look at the bodies of the two farmhands.”

Jasper smiled, taking another drink, and said; “So the prick sent someone?”

“Have either of you heard or seen anything before or after the attack?” Clarke said.

Monty stood, the fire crackling and flickering.

“I haven't and I'm sure he didn't either. Jasper spends his nights drunk and passed out.” Monty said.

“You're sure you want to see those bodies?” Jasper said.

“It's important that I do.” Clarke said.

Jasper groaned.

“They're already buried.” He said.

“It is part of the investigation Mr. Jasper.” Clarke said.

Jasper frowned.  
“Fine, but you won't see anything strange other than an animal attack.” Jasper said.

He chugged down his bottle before tossing it aside and picking up a shovel. He wobbled out toward the door, Monty picked up a second shovel and rushed after him.

“Have it your way Little Red.” Jasper sighed.

 

***

Jasper and Monty finish digging up both coffins before sunset, but it had taken longer than they expected as the ground had been frozen. Clarke stood beside the dig sight, hovering over them. Monty and Jasper tossed their shovels out of the ditch.

“Alright, last one.” Monty grunted, pushing the coffin up out of the ditch.

Jasper pulled it up from above and slammed it on the ground. Monty stood for a moment, panting and wiping away the sweat from his brow. Jasper equally winded and tired. Monty climbed out and they push the coffins next to each other.

“Would you like to do the honors Little Red?” Jasper said.

Monty picked up a crowbar and wedged it between the lid and coffin before popping the lid off. Jasper slid the lid off.

“Ugh, it smells...” Monty coughed, clasping a hand over his mouth.

Clarke moved closer, bending down to examine the body. The body discolored a sickly green and blue shade, and what was left of their faces slashed and ripped apart. Monty gagged. Jasper chuckled and put his shirt over his nose.

“What do you think Red?” Jasper choked.

“No bear would their their throats apart like that.” Clarke said. “It was as if they were torn apart.”

“They were.” Monty mumbled. “Jasper had to piece them together to lay in there.”

“My best work.” Jasper said, getting a hit in the chest by Monty. “No one could stitch them together like I have.”

Clarke pulled out a handkerchief and parted their shirts apart to see the slashes reach down one farmhand's neck. She lifted the shirt to see sutures around the stomach. She put the shirt back down and nodded.

“Skillful isn't it?” Jasper said.

“They were eviscerated.” Clarke said.

Monty let out another gag and cough.

“May we...” He said, struggling to fight another gag.

“One moment. There's something here.” Clarke said.

She pulled out a set of forceps from her satchel. Clarke leaned down closer and picked up two pieces of hair from the wound of their faces. Then tucked the pieces into a small vial.

“I'm done here, thank you.” Clarke said.

They slammed the lids closed.

“I didn't see any bite marks.” Clarke said. “A bear or a wolf don't have claws strong enough to shred a man apart like that and if it were so they would at least eat the body.”

Jasper shook his head.

“The innards were still intact although strewn across the land.” Jasper said.

“Can we not speak of this in detail?” Monty frowned.

“What do you think Red?” Jasper said.

“I will decide once I've finished the investigation. Thank you Mr. Jordan.” Clarke said.

She turned around to leave.

“Help me put it back.” Monty said, pointing to the coffins.

 

***

William is a sad and lonely man, who lived alone. His face is covered in scars and his hair short but long enough to be tied back into a ponytail. But while he may live sectioned off from the rest of the locals, he isn't surprised to get a visit from Clarke. She watched him poke at the fire in his hut before returning back to the table and picked up his pint.

“You're here about the farmhand?” He said.

“Yes.” Clarke said.

William took a sip from his cup and nodded.

“Is there anything unusual in this town?” Clarke said.

“Polis is always quiet, until the attacks happened.” William said. “What everyone is so worked up over is just a pack of wild wolves.”

“Have you been attack?” Clarke said.

“I have no livestock. I make my living fishing and hunting in the woods.” William said.

“And what was he doing here? If you have no farm to tend to.” Clarke said.

William shrugged.

“I did hear the poor boy screaming when he was attacked, asking for help.”

Clarke scribbled on her notebook.

“He was hired by Wellington Smith. He lives the closest to the bridge.” He said.

“Thank you for your time Mr. Snow.” Clarke said.

She collected her belongings from the table and stuffed them into her bag. William stood, following Clarke toward the door.

“I grew up in this village and have spent many years here.” William said. “I have not heard of any beast. This talk of creatures, witches, or any monster are just stories.”

Clarke nodded, gripping her satchel.

“I sincerely hope you are correct, Mr. Snow, for the safety of this village.” Clarke said.

 

***

Clarke reached Wellington's farm at sunset. The home is the same wooden hut with a straw roof as the other farmers with the blow of a fire from the window. A young man, with a strong squared chin and brown wavy locks worked outside on a chicken wire fence. A group of chickens locked behind another gate. He stopped hammering and approached Clarke.

“Hello, you must be Ms. Griffin.” He said.

“Yes, Mr. Smith I presume?” Clarke said.

He leaned against the fence.

“Please, Wellington is fine.” He said. “I'm glad to finally meet the talk of the village. You're as dashing as I expected you to be.”

“Charming, but may I keep this professional?” Clarke said, watching Wellington nod. “I would like to have a word with you.”

“Would you mind I continue repairing the fence?” Wellington said. “I'd like to finish before dark.”

“Of course.” Clarke said.

Wellington went back to his fence, picking up his hammer and whacking it against the wooden post.

“The first farmhand was yours I've been told.” Clarke said.

“That's correct. Timothy had been looking for work to help his family and I offered him a job.” Wellington said.

“You own this farm?” Clarke said.

“Yes, it's been passed down to me after the passing of my parents in London.” Wellington said.

“And you have no family?” Clarke said.

Wellington shook his head. He wiped the sweat from his brow.

“My sister has since moved out of London to a smaller village miles away from here.” Wellington said. “And I am not married so I tend to everything here and needed the extra hand.”

Clarke looked over the land, seeing Wellington had just a few chickens of his own and a young goat.

“May I ask what happened to your fence?” Clarke said.

Wellington moved to the next post, hammering away on it.

“It broke when Timothy was attacked. I haven't gotten around to repairing it until now. I hadn't the quid to buy the wood.” Wellington said.

Clarke walked over to Wellington examining the ground. A tuff of grass had been missing ripped up from the ground. But while she had expected there to be footprints there had only been slashes in the ground.

“He was attacked here?” Clarke said. “Mr. Smith had found the body near his hut. That's quite the run.”

Wellington nodded and sighed.

“The boy must have been terrified.” He said.

Clarke gazed up at him, a skeptical look on her face.

“And where were you?” She said.

“I had tried to hunt that night as I left him to tend to the animals before leaving.” Wellington said. “I had been gone the whole day and was making my way home before sunset.”

Clarke nodded, pulling out her notebook and wrote along the pages.

“I don't normally leave him on the farm alone, but he had been helping me for a week by now and I needed to have food for the winter.” Wellington said. “I didn't want him to come and risk getting hurt.”

Wellington frowned, distraught of the farmhand's final hours alone.

“You'll find who did this, right?” Wellington said. “Or what, I hated to bring the news to his mother.”

Clarke sighed.

“In time I will. Thank you for your help Mr. Smith.” Clarke said.

“Wellington, please. I do hope we chat again. Let's have a pint some time?” Wellington smiled.

“Goodbye Wellington.” Clarke said.

Wellington chuckled, watching her walk away.

 

***

Clarke retrieved back to the tavern. She would need to go over her notes of all her interviews, but there had not been anything useful other than the tracks she found. A wolf or bear as large as they would be, wouldn't tear up the ground as they ran. A footprint of some kind would be left behind. The tavern was lively this time of night, farmers and families sitting at the tables drinking and chatting. Nigel welcomed her at the front desk.

“You've returned.” Nigel said. “Have you made a conclusion?”

“Not quite.” Clarke said. “I'm looking for Ms. Harper.”

Nigel raised a brow.

“Lexa? Of course, she's in the back. I'll go get her.” He said, entering the kitchen.

“Have her come to my room. I'll need to speak with her more quietly.” Clarke said.

Nigel nodded. Clarke retrieved to her bedroom, placing her notebook on her desk. She sighed, feeling the exhaustion of the day hit her. A knock came from her door as she took out her quill and ink well.

“Enter.” Clarke said.

The door swooshed open and a slender woman with chestnut colored hair and evergreen eyes stood, an apron wrapped around her slim hips. She held out a tray of steaming tea with cookies and biscuits and a bowl of stew.

“Mr. Baker insisted.” She said.

Clarke smiled, stepping aside.

“Yes, please, place it on the desk. Thank you.” Clarke said. “You're Lexa?”

She nodded, standing beside the desk.

“I suppose you must speak with me too like the others?” She said.

“Yes, please, have a seat.” Clarke said.

She poured them both tea and handed a cup to Lexa. Clarke sat on the edge of her bed, facing Lexa.

“What is it you wish to know Ms. Griffin?” Lexa said.

“Whatever you can remember from any of the attacks.” Clarke said.

She dropped sugar into her cup and stirred, steadily and quiet. Lexa turned away from her motion to pick up her own cup.

“You're middle class?” Lexa said.

Thrown off, Clarke stilled her hand and gazed down at her.

“The way you carry yourself,” Lexa said. “You weren't raised a farmer. You're much too poised in your actions and formal.”

Clarke tapped her spoon against the edge of the cup, shaking off the drops of tea before placing it down on the tray.

“You're quite observant.” Clarke noted. “Yes, my father was a wealthy merchant and my mother a Baroness.”

Lexa's interested piqued. She sat up straighter.

“And you chose to be an investigator?” Lexa said. “Interesting. Why is that?”

Clarke cleared her throat, her jaw clenched.

“We're going off topic Ms. Harper.” Clarke said.

“Apologies. I have not seen one as interesting as you, Ms. Griffin.” Lexa said. “Very young, but eager to solve the case.”

Clarke took a sip of her tea.

“I've done this for five years now. I'm quite good at what I do.”

Lexa smiled.

“Oh, I don't doubt it.” She said.

Clarke felt her face heat up and she gave out another curt cough.

“What can you tell me about the attacks, Lexa?” Clarke said.

“I remember hearing the attack as I was down at Mr. Snow's cabin.” Lexa said. “He had caught a large haul of fish that evening.”

Clarke sat back on the bed, holding her cup of eat.

“And what did you hear?” Clarke pressed on.

“I remember him screaming, but William had insisted I stay inside. He looked out the window with his shotgun in hand.” Lexa said. “And then it screeched, or roared, and I know for certain that was no human, or any bear. It was much larger.”

“And what happened?” Clarke said.

Lexa sighed, clasping her hands over her lap. Her brows pinched together into a frown.

“I heard him screaming. Mr. Snow had ran out to try and help him.” Lexa said. “I didn't stay inside. I went out back and saw this massive figure, running through the trees, grunting, and huffing.”

Clarke took another sip, her eyes drawn to Lexa's frowning features.

“Anything else?” She said.

Lexa bit her bottom lip, saying, “It was as tall as a man, hunched over, but it didn't move like one. I could only guess that if it were to stand it would be taller than any man on this earth.”

Clarke raised a brow.

“Mr. Snow hadn't mentioned you at the cabin during the attack.” Clarke said.

“He doesn't know I stepped out.” Lexa said. “But he wouldn't believe me either if I had told him what I saw. It couldn't be...I was awfully tired that night.”

“What do you think it is?” Clarke said.

Lexa looked up at her.

“There is no doubt it was a beast, one might hear in fables or stories to scare children into bed at night.” Lexa said. “Can you prove that?”

Clarke nodded.

“I would need to catch the creature in the act to know for sure.” She said.

“And if you are to find these beast?” Lexa said.

Clarke leaned back.

“I'm going to kill it of course.” Clarke said.

Lexa gulped.

“It's too dangerous. That thing tore two men apart.” Lexa said.

“Remember Ms. Harper, I'm quite skilled.” Clarke said. “Thank you for your time.”

“Please, be careful, Ms. Griffin.” Lexa said, standing from her chair. “The locals have good reason to be scared.”

“I have no doubt about it.” Clarke agreed. “Should anything else come up or you have any questions do not hesitate to contact me.”

Lexa nodded.

“Thank you Ms. Griffin.”

Clarke saw her out and locked her room door. She put her cup back on the tray and picked up her suitcase from under her bed. She placed it on the cot and opened it, sorting through her clothes and underneath a collection of bottles, stake, a pistol, and herbs. Clarke gathered a pinch of herbs and dropped them into her bowl. She opened a small vial of green liquid and put a drop into the bowl. Then ground it up with a pestle. When it had been grind into chunks Clarke took out the bottle of hair pieces from her satchel. She dropped it into the bowl and took out a match and dropped it into the bowl. A flare of two green flames burst from the bowl and the third one a blue color before it sizzled out. Clarke waited for the herbs to cool and cleaned out the bowl then packed everything back into her suitcase.


	2. Part III

Clarke stuffed her notebook into her satchel and sighed. The notes from last night had did little to help her determine an answer, but she knew the locals would want to hear what she has decided. And as requested, Nigel had everyone gathered at the tavern the following morning. Clarke entered the room to see everyone at the tables, quiet as she entered, watching her. She clutched her satchel. She spotted Lexa against the wall, smiling at her and nodded.

“As you all may know, I've completed my interview.” Clarke said. “Based on testimony and looking over the evidence I've concluded the attack was an animal.”

Everyone chattered between each other a sigh of relief.

“However, this animal was no bear nor a wolf like you may have all suspected, but the in fact, a werewolf.” Clarke added.

Everyone gasped. They locals talked between each other sounds of an out cry of fear and anger. William stood, rattling the table and glared.

“There is no way!” He cried. “How can you go around spreading such stories?”

Clarke frowned. The locals muttered between each other a few agreeing and others arguing.

“And you think ignoring the problem will go away?” Issac said.

“But you rather your daughter be terrified every day instead?” William shot back.

Issac stood, glaring at him. Lexa raced between them, pushing both men back as they faced one another.

“Father, please.” She said.

“Oh this is great.” Jasper laughed, chugging his bottle of ale, watching the scene in front of him.

“I know what I saw!” Issac yelled.

“Everyone, calm down!” Clarke said.

The group faced her.

“I've conducted test based on the samples I've collected from the bodies and found pieces of fur. The results have shown the animal isn't any I have ever seen.” Clarke said.

They looked at her confused.

“What do you mean?” Wellington said. “No doctor would be able to do such thing.”

“Witchcraft?” William asked.

The locals started chattering between each other again. A look of distant from a few geared toward Clarke. Clarke clenched her jaw. A small and simple town as this wouldn't understand, but they needed to be told the truth rather than the lies the last hunter did.

“Clearly you jest, or have you come to swindle us?” William said.

He marched around the table. Lexa raced after him, putting herself between them.

“William, stop it.” Lexa said.

William groaned and stared back at Clarke over Lexa. Clarke watched him, calm and emotionless. Her poised manner did little to simmer down his anger.

“Wither any of you believe me or not is not up to me, but I've gathered the evidence.” Clarke said. “And I have found there is not one werewolf, but two. And these werewolves could very well be any one of you in this room.”

The room chattered with fear again.

“What? But how – oh dear.” Elizabeth whispered.

“Mom?” Ellie said, leaning into her mother's chest crying.

Lexa glared at William, her face stern.

“Are you willing to deal with two wolves and attack the only person who offered to save this village?” Lexa said.

A wash of guilt filled William's face and he walked away. Lexa faced Clarke.

“Thank you.” Clarke whispered.

“And little red has come to save the day hasn't she?” Jasper said. “A puny size as you, you'll make nothing but an afternoon snack for the beast.”

Monty jabbed him in his side.

“Cut it out Jasper.” He said.

Wellington gulped, exhaling.

“So its' true?” He said.

“I'm afraid so.” Clarke nodded.

“How...what do we do?” Wellington said.

“Those who have the curse have no control of themselves as they are a slave to the moon's cycle.” Clarke said. “I will find them, but that can't be done until they've changed.”

“And what do we do until then?” Issac asked.

Clarke nodded, seeing Ellie weep in her mom's arms in fear. She turned to Lexa on her left. She had not a single look of fear in her eyes, but determination to deal with the situation.

“I advise everyone stay in doors at night early. Should there be an attack seek shelter.” Clarke said. “If it puts you as ease to carry a gun then do so but do not fight this beast it's far too strong.”

Nigel nodded, saying, “You don't have to tell me twice.”

“That's it?” William said, scoffing. “We should hunt this thing down.”

Clarke frowned.

“We can't find who it is in human form unless you suggest we kill everyone in this village, Mr. Snow?” Clarke said.

William sighed.

“I will deal with it, but you all must stay in doors come nightfall. It is for all of your safeties.” Clarke said.

They all nod in agreement. The locals leave the tavern returning back to their work. Lexa remained.

“Thank you for you help.” Clarke said.

“Everyone is just scared.” Lexa said. “I trust you will solve this.”

Nigel came out from the kitchen.

“Lexa, I have an order ready to go.” He said.

“Just a second.” Lexa said. “If you need any help I'll be glad to offer what I can. I've helped father and William hunt for years. I'm a better tracker than they are.”

Clarke thanked her again before Lexa returned back to the kitchen.

 

***

Clarke is seated at her desk, scanning over the letter in her hand for a a third time. The paper had started to wrinkle as she carried it with her during her travels, but have the courage yet to write a response. Clarke rubbed her finger over the signature at the bottom, frowning. Her mother had no interest in her line of work, but to receive a letter after three years had been an unsettling surprise.

“Clarke?”

She stuffed the letter back into her desk and turned around.

“One moment.” Clarke said, getting up. “Lexa?”

She stood in the door way, holding a tray of food in her hands.

“I hope I'm not interrupting.” Lexa said. “I will be sent home early tonight as everyone else. I figured I'd give you dinner before leaving.”

“Thank you. Please, come in.” Clarke said, stepping aside.

She set the tray on the desk and Clarke watched from the closed door.

“How many cases of werewolves have you dealt with?” Lexa said, facing her.

“Three and I've killed them all.” Clarke said. “I deal with vampires more often than werewolves.”

Lexa looked surprised, saying, “They're real?”

“Oh, of course.” Clarke said.

“I wonder, the book of Dracula isn't so fictional as it appears then?” Lexa said.

Clarke raised a brow.

“You read?” She said.

“I've learned it in London, but I've stopped reading such books as those years ago.” Lexa said.

“You've lived in London?” Clarke said, approaching her.

“Yes, it's how I learned to be a cook. I specialize in French and Italian cuisine of course.” Lexa said.

Clarke smiled.

“Well, you make delicious stew.” Clarke said.

Lexa chuckled. She glanced down at her hands, tucking a piece of curly hair behind her ear.

“You travel alone?” Lexa said. “How can you do such things alone?”

Clarke shrugged.

“I know quite well how to defend myself.” Clarke said.

“I must ask, if a werewolf hides like humans how can you spot one without them turning?” Lexa said.

“There are ways, for one, scars.” Clarke said. “A human was most likely attacked and should they live there are scars on their face, neck, toros, arms, anywhere really, but I'm aware that isn't always accurate. Should that be the case it would mean Nigel, Mr. Snow, or any normal farmer would be a werewolf.”

“It isn't reliable.” Lexa stated.

“Yes, but it can be a sign.” Clarke said.

“And the other signs?” Lexa said.

“Silver.” Clarke said. “The touch of silver would harm it even in human form.”

Lexa headed toward the door.

“I'm sorry. I find this very interesting and I'm keeping you from your work.” Lexa said. “Good night, Clarke.”

“Night.” Clarke said, watching Lexa exit.

She sat back at her desk, exhaling and ate.

 

***

The howl of the brisk winter wind rattled at the shutters of Clarke's room. She, sitting up out of bed, shaking and gasping. A thin sheet of sweat along her hairline. She squinted through the dark and stumbled out of bed as a clear howl ripped through the stillness of the night. By her nightstand, she lit a candle and picked it up by the base of it's holder. The howl continued, closer and a low snarl behind it. Clarke scurried downstairs. Nigel emerged from his room on the second floor, running down with a shotgun in hand.

“Did you hear that?” He said, rushing toward the window. “Is that...we must do something.”

He raced toward the door. Clarke grabbed him by his shoulder, pulling him back.

“You have to stay inside.” She said. “Stay put and be quiet.”

Nigel gulped, gripping his gun.

“H-How could it be...it isn't a full moon tonight.” Nigel whispered.

“They are at the mercy of the moon cycle. The full moon just makes them much stronger and out of control.” Clarke said.

A snarl interrupted them, much closer and Nigel scattered away from the door. Clarke kept a finger to her mouth. As quick as the snarl came it was quiet, but an uneasy type of silence that brought little comfort. Nigel's hand shook as he looked around the windows of the tavern. A window shattered to the far right and a roar. Nigel jumped and froze as a massive fur covered head pushed through the window. The tuff of the wolf's fur black and night and thick. A dim glow of orange emitted from its face before it looked at them. The wolf's muzzle long and full of sharp glistening teeth, curled into a snare. Nigel screamed. His arms shook as he pointed the gun at the wolf's head and fired. The pelts blasted into the farm of the window, but missed the wolf entirely. The wolf roared, bashing its body against the wall.

“Give me that!” Clarke shouted, snatching the gun.

“It's...we're going to die!” Nigel cried.

Clarke stepped forward, staring into its fury filled eyes and fired. The bullet pierced the wolf's exposed arm that slipped through the window. A spray of blood covered the window sill and wall. The wolf growled, bashing it's body into the wall harder. Clarke fire again, the bullet ripped into its shoulder and the wolf whimpered before backing out of the window.

“Quickly, barricade the window!” Clarke said.

Nigel dragged chairs and helped Clarke move a table against the window.

“This won't hold!” He said. “It will come back.”

Clarke looked over the wall covered in speckled red blood.

“It will take some time for it to heal before it can strike again.” Clarke said.

“If it's wounded we can track it.” Nigel said. “We can follow the trail of blood.”

Clarke shook her head.

“It's too much of a risk. A wounded werewolf is far more dangerous.” She said.

A group of chickens squabbled in the distance and Nigel looked through another window.

“It's still out there.” He gasped.

“We must stay inside.” Clarke said. “We're safer in here, Nigel.”

He faced her nodded and sighed.

“I'll have first watch.” He said.

Clarke went over and handed him back the gun. Nigel pulled up a chair in the center of the room and sat down. Clarke returned back to her room, opening the shutters of her window to look for any traces of the wolf. The forrest had been too dark to see anything. She closed the shutters and went back to bed.

 

***

Clarke is gathering empty vials into her satchel once she finished changing. She stretched feeling a tension in her shoulder and neck. She had little sleep since the attack. The adrenaline rush of the attack still coursing through her, but much more faint. She went downstairs debating to have breakfast as her stomach felt twisted into a series of knots. The locals glanced at her, the chatter dying down. Lexa who stood by the desk, had been waiting for Clarke's arrival and approached her.

“Is it true?” She said.

Clarke approached the desk. Olivia stood running this time as Nigel probably would need some time to rest.

“Keep your voice down.” Clarke said.

She couldn't deny what happened. The window was still barricaded and there are small cracks in the walls. The blood had long dried too.

“Tea and toast for today, Olive, thank you.” Clarke said.

“Yes miss.” Olivia said, heading into the kitchen.

Clarke doubted she could keep the bread down but she needed something to give her fuel for the long day. Lexa watched her, expecting an answer.

“Are you okay?” Lexa said.

“I'm fine. Nigel is spooked, but we handled it.” Clarke said.

“I saw the blood. I can help you track it.” Lexa said.

Clarke faced her.

“I couldn't possibly put you through that danger.” Clarke said. “There wouldn't be a body. I had no silver bullets on hand.”

Lexa scoffed.

“It's broad daylight. It must have shifted by now, but you wounded it. There is a chance the trail can lead us somewhere.” Lexa said. “Beside, I'm the best tracker out of everyone here. Who else is qualified to help you?”

Olivia remerged from the kitchen, handing Clarke her order. She took a bite from her buttered toast. She looked around the tavern. The locals eying her but a look of complete fear and confusion on their faces. Lexa's lacked any sign of fear, but rather determination.

“I'm going with you.” Lexa said. “This is my village. The least I can do is help. I know the risk.”

Clarke sighed.

“Very well.” She agreed. “Let's hurry while the tracks are fresh.”

She picked up her toast from the plate and left the tavern.

 

***

Lexa stared at the wall of the tavern. The damage done to the wall could have left a gaping whole to make another doorway based on the bending and cracks of the wood. A smear of blood and skin matted along the walls. Clarke finished the last of her toast and pulled out a vial and pair of forceps from her bag. She began to scrap the bits of skin off it and into the vial.

“You're not squeamish?” Clarke said, focused on the wall.

“I've hunted for years. I'm often the one left to gut the game.” Lexa said.

Clarke glanced at her for a moment then went back to scraping.

“This is different. The blast of a shotgun would nearly rip a normal's wolf arm off, hence the splatter.” Clarke said.

Lexa shook her head.

“It doesn't bother me.” She said. “What are you doing?”

If I get enough of a sample I will be able to use the flesh to identify our werewolf.” Clarke said.

Lexa frowned.

“What alchemy does that that?” She said.

“I prefer to not get into the specifics on my methods.” Clarke said. “People tend to be quiet judgmental if things aren't normal for them.”

Lexa chuckled.

“And werewolves are normal?” She said.

Clarke closed the vial and stuffed it into her satchel.

“You'd be surprised.” Clarke said. “I have reason to believe the books one reads for entertainment are much more truthful than one can believe.”

Lexa examined the wall, spotting a trickle of blood reach down the wall and along a patch of grass. Clarke followed her line of sight and bend over to take a look.

“Look at those footprints.” Lexa said, pointing to the tracks a pace away from the grace. “It's massive. Definitely not a bear it's shaped much too long.”

“Let's follow it.” Clarke said.

The tracks moved down the slope of the tavern terrain and down to the back. They turned left, stepping out into the dirt road of the village that separated the tavern from the farmer huts. The passed Lexa's house and Monty's, before they reached Wellington's hut. He stood out, looking over the damage of his entire fence with a frown. He noticed them approaching and smiled.

“Ms. Griffin, you've finally concerned my offer of a pint of ale?” He said.

Lexa rolled her eyes and scoffed.

Clarke ignored him, looking over the pile of dirt and missing farm animals.

“Your chickens.” She said.

Wellington let out another huff of disappointment and looked back at the face with a shake of his head. His hands rested on his hips.

“Yes, the beast decided to make a snack of what's left of my livestock.” He said.

“What did you own before?” Clarke said.

“Cows and chickens, one cow ran away when the first was slaughtered. I'm sure it's long dead too somewhere I'm afraid.” Wellington said. “I might have enough to buy a chicken from the neighboring town.”

“Did you see it?” Lexa said.

Wellington started to collect the pieces of his wooden fence.

“No, I was frozen with fear to even look. I heard it though, ripping through the chickens. It wasn't a pretty sight.” He said.

“I'm sorry about your livestock, Wellington.” Clarke said.

Wellington shrugged.

“I'll have to hunt for today. It's too late to travel to the next town. It's at least a day's travel.” Wellington said.

Lexa looked around the fence to see more tracks leaving the fence and leading down toward the river.

“Clarke.” She called, motioning to the ground.

“Excuse me Mr. Smith.” Clarke said, following Lexa.

They took off toward the back of the hut. They paused at the edge of the river.

“It's gone.” Lexa said.

Clarke walked through the stream and spotted another pair of tracks.

“That's because it leapt.” She said. “They can go quite far distances.”

Lexa crossed the stream and found more prints. They were lead farther through the thick of the trees, stopping in front of a huge boulder covered with moss.

“It stops here.” Lexa said.

They walk around the boulder, but there isn't anymore prints. The rest of the ground covered in an expanse of trees, grass, and rocks.

“It must have shifted and left.” Clarke said. “The ground is frozen so human foot prints couldn't be left behind in the dirt.”

Lexa frowned.

“Let's head back. I'm sure everyone wants an explanation.” Clarke said.

“And what could we tell them they already don't know?” Lexa said.

Clarke sighed.

“They deserve to know how to defend theirselves.” Clarke said.

“You can't tell them how to identify a werewolf.” Lexa said. “They'll jump to conclusions and become hostile to each other.”

“I know. And I'll need more information about the locals.” Clarke said. “There are other ways to tell someone has turned beside scars.”

They silently agreed and headed back to the tavern.

 

***

The locals remained at the tavern, restless and anxious this time. They didn't bother to pretend talking or eating once Clarke returned with Lexa. Olivia handed her a cup of tea as soon as she sat down and Clarke thanked her before taking a sip. She sighed, relishing the warmth of the tea running through her as the brisk of the cold had made her fingers numb. Lexa stood off to the wall three paces away from Clarke. She put down her cup on her third sip and held the cup to warm up her hands.

“I know you all have questions.” She said.

The locals faced her, their faces stern.

“And yes, there was an attack last night. What Nigel had seen is true.” She said. “However, what evidence I found has not made it clear who this werewolf may be.”

“What do you mean?” William said. “You shot it didn't you?”

“Yes, but one of the traits of a werewolf is its exceptional healing. It could heal from a normal bullet wound in a day or two.” Clarke said.

“Then what are we to do? Sit around and allow it to attack us again? What if it kills one of us this time?” Issac said.

Clarke nodded.

“I understand we can't just sit and let it strike, but I insist you remain inside. However, there is a way to defend yourself too.” Clarke said. “Silver can kill them and for that I request that Monty melt down any remaining silver ingots into bullets.”

“It will take me a few days to make enough for the entire village.” He said.

“But, pure silver is impractical.” Wellington said.

“Yes, but it is a werewolf's only weakness.” Clarke said. “Unfortunately, we must wait until the next attack.”

Clarke left, heading back to her room. The locals groan and frown, but exit the tavern to go back to their chores. Clarke locked her room door once inside and removed the vials from her satchel. She sorted through her suit case and pulled out the same small wooden bowl. She fished through it again to take out several colored glass bottles and poured the contain of a thick blue liquid with a dried piece of herb from another. She dropped the pieces of skin inside and placed the bowl on her desk. From her desk she pulled out a piece of white talk and scribbled sigils across the wooden surface surrounding the bowl. Steadily she muttered under her breath, her hands leaning against the ledge of the desk. The liquid inside the bowl began to simmer and the sigils faintly glowed. She dropped a pinch of another herb into the bowl and a spark of light shot from the bowl, covering the area with a thin layer of smoke. She watched it die down and glanced into the bowl to see the bits of skin charred. Clarke sighed and frowned. She emptied out the bowl and but the items back into her suitcase.


	3. Chapter 3

“Ah, Clarke, morning.” Nigel said, watching her enter the inn lobby. “What'll have today?”

“Tea, with eggs, toast please, and jam, please.” Clarke said, sitting at the nearest bench.

“Right away.” He said.

Clarke pulled out her notebook from her satchel and flipped over the pages. She had decided to go over what she found from her current searches, but with little changes finding this wolf would be harder. She had other ways of testing samples, but she would need a better one. Olivia approached her with a steaming mug of tea.

“Here you are, Ms. Griffin.” She said. “I hope you'll have better lucky today in your search.”

“Thank you Olivia.” Clarke said.

She smiled and left to tend to other guest. Clarke carefully read her notes. The inn's bell rang half way through her tea. Monty scanned the inn with a look of determination and rushed over to Clarke.

“Ms. Griffin, morning.” He said. “May I have a moment of your time?”

“Of course.” She said.

Monty looked around the inn and gulped.

“Not here, back at the forge if you would?” Monty said.

Olivia came out with her eggs and toast. Clarke took the toast from its plate and fished out a few coins from her purse to leave it on the table. Clarke stood.

“Alright then.” She said.

“I apologize for the interruption.” Monty said, as they exited the inn.

“I must be important.” Clarke said.

They walked down the dirt road before stopping at the forge. The house attached to it had been small and humble like the others, a single floor hut. They entered where the fire-pit of the house in the living room lit keeping it warm. Clarke examined the space, consisting of two rooms. A single living rom with a fireplace and a kitchen. A cot laid out on the floor with a pillow.

“You live here alone?” Clarke said.

Monty entered the kitchen taking out a roll of bread.

“Could I get you anything?” He said.

He took out a block of cheese. Monty sat down across from Clarke who was half way through eating a piece of toast.

“No, thank you Monty.” Clarke said. “You live here alone?”

“My parents are in London, seeking treatment for their illnesses.” Monty said. “I was left to tend to the forge.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Clarke said. “I wish for your parents quick recovery.”

Monty had on a frown of sadness and sighed.

“Thank you miss.”

Seeing the drop of his mood Clarke decided to change the subject.

“What is it do you wish to discuss?” She said.

Monty nodded, ripping a piece of bread and put a piece of cheese on it. He sighed munching on the bread. Clarke fished out her quill and inkwell from her bag with a her notebook. Monty's hand nervously tapped against the table.

“Firstly, I wanted to inform you that I have finished the first two batches of silver bullets.” Monty said. “Also, I'm not sure if you've been informed, but there is something about Lexa I figured could be of importance to you.”

Clarke raised a brow. She crossed her arm over her chest and sighed. She had not expected to hear anything regarding Lexa.

“Is that so? Please continue.” Clarke said.

Monty nodded saying, “Before her return from London, Lexa had gotten ill. It was why she had returned home. From what I've heard she had contracted scarlet fever.”

Clarke scribbled into her notebook. It sounded nothing unusual so far, but she couldn't leave not a single stone unturned. While being sick had nothing to do with werewolves, she needed to ask a few more questions.

“You are aware scarlet fever normally infects children? That is unusual. And how long ago was this?” Clarke said.

“Ten years ago.” Monty said, seeing Clarke sigh. “Please, hear me out. When Lexa arrived she was gravely sick. I mean about ready on her death bed. They were going to have a priest come to read her last rites.”

Clarke's quill stood still. She looked back at Monty.

“But the week before the priest was to arrive Lexa suddenly was cured.” Monty said. “I mean she was out and about, walking around. Granted she was weak, but no where near than how she looked when she first got here.”

Clarke continued to jot down on her notebook. She nodded. She took a piece of bread and cheese. The illness had now seemed something worth investigating.

“Is there anything else you remember from that day?” Clarke said. “Anything strange?”

Monty shook his head.

“No, but everyone in the town had claimed it to be a miracle from god himself.” Monty said. “I wouldn't be so sure of that.”

Clarke closed her notebook and put her belongings back into her bag.

“Well, thank you for the information. I shall look into it.” She said.

“Would you like the first batch of silver?” Monty said.

Clarke stood.

“I've come prepared with a batch of my own. Thank you Monty.” She said. “Be sure to hand them to the rest of the citizens.”

Monty followed her toward the door.

“Of course, thank you for your assistance Ms. Griffin.” Monty said. “I do hope we can put this beast to rest.”

“You have my word.” Clarke said.

 

***

Lexa's parents had little to contribute about Lexa's illness and miraculous recovery. They had been worried sick about her arrival. How Elizabeth had insisted earlier that Lexa remain on the farm to help the family rather than pursue the life of a cook. They didn't trust the city how there had been stories of many crimes and murders. Which had been reasonable fears visiting the city herself before arriving at Polis Village. But at the end, Issac and Elizabeth claimed Lexa's recovery to be an act of god. She had returned back to the inn for lunch. Clarke had asked Olivia to have Lexa come to her room to continue the investigation. While she waited for her lunch to be served Clarke had sifted through her suitcase again to pull out an a ray of plants and herbs. She picked up a stem of purple flowers that clustered together on the single stem. The flowers a rich purple and oblong shape. Clare placed the plant on above the door frame and wedged it between the wall and frame. She then picked up another stem and tucked the plant into her cloak pocket. There was a knock at her door.

“Enter.” Clarke said.

Lexa entered with a tray of stew, ale, and bread.

“You wanted to see me?” Lexa said.

Lexa cringed, inhaling and looked around the room.

“What is that smell?” Lexa said.

Clarke watched her place the tray on her desk.

“I was burning sage earlier.” Clarke said. “Please have a seat.”

Lexa sat on her bed while Clarke sat at her desk. She turned the chair around to face Lexa.

“Did you have any luck today?” Lexa said.

“Actually, there has been something worth discussing.” Clarke said.

“How can I help?” Lexa said.

Clarke took out her quill and notebook.

“It has come to my attention that you were gravely ill years ago?” Clarke said.

Lexa raised a brow. Clarke watched her, but Lexa had no fear of the topic. She remained calm. Lexa crossed her arms over her chest.

“Yes, I had gotten sick. It was scarlet fever.” Lexa said.

“But I was told you were near death.” Clarke said.

Lexa sighed and chuckled.

“Mother and father are always dramatic.” Lexa said. “I had gotten sick. There is nothing unusual about it.”

Clarke nodded.

“Yes, but you parents aren't the only one to tell me how ill you were.” She said. “Monty had claimed you were much too feeble to walk.”

Lexa remained poised saying, “Okay, I was badly ill, but nothing near what mother claims. I was in London. The smoke had made plenty of others ill.”

“Yes, but scarlet fever is what children usually get too.” Clarke said.

Lexa raised a brow.

“Are you suggesting I'm the village's beast?” Lexa said.

Clarke sat up.

“I made no such claim.” Clarke said. “I just need to be thorough.”

Lexa scoffed.

“You can't be serious? I had been sick. What does that have to do with being a werewolf?” She said. “What you should be concerned about is someone else like Mr. Smith.”

Clarke looked at her, alarmed. She had no reason to further investigate him. He had been a single farmer with his livestock attacked twice from the beast. But it was worth questioning seeing how serious Lexa was about such a claim.

“Is that so?” Clarke said.

Lexa stood, her hands clasped together over her hips.

“Wellington has only been in the village for two years.” Lexa said. “He gave no reason why he'd be interested in farming. He comes from a wealthy merchant father. Last I heard he had been cut from his inheritance.”

Clarke frowned, flipping through her notebook. That is a completely different story than she had listed.

“He told me his parents passed and left him this farm.” Clarke said.

“Of course he would. No wealthy man wants to tell others that they were disowned.” Lexa said. “Will there be anything else you want to ask me?”

“That'll be all, thank you Lexa.” Clarke said, writing into her notebook.

Lexa nodded, leaving the room. Clarke pressed a finger against her chin. She had much to consider. Between Lexa's illness and Wellington, Clare had nothing else to go on. At least until the next attack. She took out her second suitcase and opened a small box containing silver bullets. She loaded her pistol before going back to her desk to finish her lunch.

 

***

“Ms. Griffin, I do hope this is a personal visit.” Wellington said, smiling. “Please, come in. I was just about to have my supper. Would you like some?”

Clarke entered the hut to see the fireplace flickering in the center of the room and the table set with silverware and a plate full of roasted duck, steamed carrots and turnips.

“That's alright, thank you.” Clarke said.

Wellington sighed, following her into the kitchen.

“Please, at least stay for dinner.” He said.

He took out two tankards and filled them with ale. He handed one to Clarke before sitting down. Clarke shifted her cloak before sitting and took a sip of the ale.

“I hope you managed to go to the next town to purchase a few hens?” Clarke said.

Wellington shook his head, ripping a piece of his duck.

“I haven't the time, I'm afraid. But I did repair the fence.” Wellington said. “Instead I've managed a trade with Mr. Snow. I'm willing to buy or trade the goods I have for any game he's caught in the woods.”

Clarke took another swig.

“Pardon my directness, but I have just been told you did not inherit this farm.” Clarke said.

Wellington's smile washed away. He glanced down at his plate, his hands clenched. He sighed.

“Why did you lie Mr. Smith?” Clarke said.

Wellington cleared his throat.

“It isn't exactly something prideful to tell the whole village about.” He said. “I chose to settle here because it was much more peaceful than the city and I couldn't stand hearing my father degrade me.”

Clarke studied him for a moment.

“Mr. Smith, if you want me to help this village, I need everyone and you included to be honest with me.” She said.

Wellington raised a brow.

“I understand. I must say, I don't understand how such a thing could be of any importance to the investigation.” Wellington said.

Clarke stood, approaching him.

“That is why I am the hunter, Mr. Smith.” She said.

Wellington frowned sharply inhaling and coughed.

“What is that awful smell?” He said.

He broke out into a fit of coughing. He picked up his napkin, covering his mouth.

“I'm sorry. I'm quite sensitive to smells.” He said.

“I should go. Thank you for your honesty Mr. Smith.” Clarke said.

He followed her out still in a coughing fit.

***

Clarke helped Nigel board up the inn once the guest left to retreat home for the night. Olivia had wanted to help, but Nigel couldn't let her stay when she was safer at home. At least Nigel seemed so sure as he had most of his guns stored at home.

“Do you think the beast will strike again tonight?” Nigel said.

“I hope so.”

They turned around to see Lexa behind the inn counter, her arms crossed. Nigel put the plank into is notch before turn around.

“Lexa, what are you doing here?” He said. “I thought I told you to go home.”

“I decided to stay. I want to help catch this beast.” Lexa said.

Nigel sighed.

“And what about your parents and Ellie?” He said.

“Father and mother know how to use a gun.” Lexa said. “Beside, Monty has given us the silver bullets.”

Clarke locked up the last window and approached her.

“You're sure?” She said. “This is dangerous.”

Lexa's jaw clenched.

“I'm not going to sit aside anymore and let this thing terrorize my home.” Lexa said.

Nigel looked at Clarke who had been unsure to let Lexa stay. He shrugged.

“Once her mind is made up there is no changing it.” He chuckled. “She's a stubborn one.”

“Very well, you can have first watch with me then.” Clarke said.

Nigel retired to one of the spare bedrooms upstairs while Clarke and Lexa sat in the main entrance. Nigel had been nice enough to give them drinks while they sat around. The first hour was slow and boring. Lexa took out a pack of playing cards from her pocket.

“You play?” She said, placing them on the table.

Clarke faced her.

“I'm more of a chess player.” She said.

Lexa smiled, dealing out the cards.

“A typical game for the nobles.” Lexa said.

Clarke tensed. Lexa glanced up at her, seeing her shift of mood. She sat up.

“I'm no noble.” Clarke said.

Lexa clasped her hands together, leaning on to the table.

“I must ask, how does a woman like you become a hunter?” Lexa said. “The daughter of a Baroness and a wealthy merchant.”

Clarke sighed. Her face stern and emotionless.

“It's personal.” She said.

“I thought so. And your mother allows it?” Lexa said.

Clarke glared.

“I rather not speak about this.” She said.

Lexa nodded, placing the cards to the side.

“I'm sorry. I don't mean to upset you.” She said. “I've always been curious about those who carve out a different path than their parents have for them.”

Clarke's shoulders loosened. She didn't feel comfortable talking about her past, even more so with someone she knew little about. Although Lexa did seem like the type to be more open to things as opposed to the people in this village.

“Is that why you left to London? In search of something greater?” Clarke said.

“Precisely.” Lexa admitted. “I would have liked to travel to America, but I haven't the money and my family needs me.”

“What stops you now?” Clarke said.

A snarl ripped through the night. Clarke and Lexa stood, Clarke with a hand on her pistol and Lexa with her gun already out.

“It's here.” Lexa whispered.

Clarke pressed a finger against her lips. She steadily moved through the inn, listening to the whistle of the wind and the low growls of the beast. The growl increased and sounded closer to the inn. A howl filled the night sky, sharp and chilling.

“That sounded farther away.” Lexa said.

A group of hens squawked, followed by another roar. Then the sound of a crash.

“It's targeting one of the huts.” Clarke said.

A scream sounded from behind them. Lexa's eyes widened.

“Lexa!”

She looked at Clarke, stricken with fear.

“That's Ellie!” She said, dashing out the inn.

“Lexa, you can't fight it!” Clarke said, following her out.

“I'm not going to let it kill my family.” Lexa hissed.

A shot gun rang from her house followed by more screams. She ran through the village, blinded by the darkness but fueled with rage. Lexa saw the front door of her house ripped apart and the shadow of the wolf in the window. Another gunshot sounded from the hut and Ellie screamed.

“Ellie, get out of here!” Issac said.

Ellie raced out, crying.

“Lexa!” She said.

“Go to the inn, Ellie, now.” Lexa said.

She entered the hut, seeing Elizabeth pressed into the corner of the hut with her shotgun up. Lexa noticed a thick trail of blood. Lexa shot the wolf, watching two bullets pierce his back. It let out a howl of pain, before turning around, snaring.

“Mother, run!” Lexa said, firing again.

Two more bullets pierced its chest. It yelped and crashed through the side of the house, running off toward the forest. Lexa chased after her, fueled with rage.

“Lexa, don't!” Clarke said, reaching the hut.

“Clarke, please, come help.” Elizabeth said.

Clarke paused, watching Lexa enter the forest and heard Issac grunting from within the hut. She entered seeing the broken bits of wood on the floor. The glass and the blood. She followed it toward the kitchen to see Issac leaning against the wall. A thick coat of blood on his stomach.

“It...just tore through here.” Issac said.

“Don't move.” Clarke said.

“Ellie, is she – ”

“She's alright. We must focus on you now Mr. Harper, please.” Clarke said.

“What could you do? It looks bad.” Elizabeth said, sniffling.

A howl sounded from the depths of the forest followed by another one and a roar. Clarke looked around them then back at Elizabeth.

“Two.” Elizabeth said. “There are two beasts?!”

Clarke pulled out her satchel and took out a cloth with a bottle. She dumped the thick yellowish gelatinous material on to the cloth.

“What is that?” Elizabeth said.

“Mrs. Harper, please, you must trust me.” Clarke said. “We haven't the time.”

She lifted up Issac's shirt and smeared it on to his gaping wound. Issac screamed as it burned into his cut. Clarke pressed against it to slow the bleeding. Issac passed out and Clarke kept the cloth in place.

“Okay, the bleeding has stopped.” Clarke said. “But he must get rest. He'll be at risk of infection.”

“Oh, thank you.” Elizabeth said, wiping away her tears.

“Help me get him into bed.” Clarke said, shifting Issac's legs.

“What about Lexa?” Elizabeth said.

They heard the crunch of the gravel floor and the clatter of footsteps on their steps. Clarke turned around to see Lexa in the doorway, covered in sweat and dirt, out of breath.

“Father.” She said, entering the house. “Is he...father?”

“I will do all that I can to treat him, but he must see a doctor.” Clarke said.

Lexa wiped away her tears and nodded.

“O-Okay.” She said.

 

***

Clarke couldn't get Lexa to rest as her father was still unconscious. It would take some time before her mother could reach London and get a doctor to see Issac. Ellie had been a crying mess once she heard about her father. Come dawn, Clarke had returned back to the inn to gather her notebook, more salve, and food from the kitchen. Nigel had been nice enough to let them spend the night in one of his rooms until they could fix their hut. Clarke knocked on the doorframe before entering. Lexa sat beside her father, watching him.

“I brought food.” Clarke said.

Lexa looked back at her father. The light of the candle next to him showing how pale and sickly he had become. Lexa bit back a sob.

“Thank you, Clarke.” Lexa said.

“You should re – ”

“No, so long as father is out and that beast is out there I will be here.” Lexa said.

Clarke sighed, approaching her once she put the food down on the desk.

“Lexa, you won't be able to help of you're exhausted. You need your strength.” Clarke said.

“I'll need to work just as hard since mother is planning to go into London in search of a doctor today.” Lexa said.

Clarke frowned.

“Lexa, there are some things I have to tell you.” Clarke said.

Lexa faced her.

“I think there are two werewolves.” Clarke said.

Lexa's jaw slackened.

“How...”

“I heard them last night and that means this investigation has gotten much more complicated.” Clarke said.

“That's not all is it?” Lexa said.

Clarke's face filled with sadness.

“With your father wounded he could die from infection. The wound is bad.” Clarke said.

“And if he is to survive?” Lexa said.

“It is most likely he's been turned.” Clarke said.

Lexa sighed, a trail of tears gliding down her cheek. She looked back at her father. He didn't look better since last night, but if he did...

“What? No, he couldn't be.” Lexa said.

“I'm sorry Lexa, but in many cases those who survive a werewolf attack they are turned.” Clarke said. “And him being so could put everyone at risk.”

Lexa stood, glaring.

“I am not going to let you kill my father.” She said.

“I don't want to.” Clarke said. “I just wanted to tell you the possibilities of this outcome. Look, there is also a chance he could die during the transformation.”

Lexa weeped, wiping away her tears.

“I can't believe this.” She whispered.

“I'm sorry Lexa.” Clarke said. “Out of respect, I will not kill him. I'll leave you and your mother to make the decision.”


	4. Chapter 4

The mood of the village had become tense. The fear after the attack at much higher stakes. While Clarke would have normally addressed the people, she had little time to take what she could from the scene. The bullets would leave a trail, but it was the blood splatter she needed examine. The fresher the blood the better. She couldn't convince Lexa to sleep, nor eat, and she wasn't going to leave her father's side either. When Clarke did what she could, she left the room and Lexa to tend to her father, determined to gather what she can. At the inn the silence of the villagers was unsettling. Clarke heard sobbing at the table where Ellie sat with her cookies untouched. Nigel sat next to her.

“Come Ellie.” Nigel said. “It'll be alright.”

Nigel hugged her as she weeped. He handed her a piece of apple pie, but like the cookies it was left alone. Nigel sighed, patting her on the back before getting up. He approached Clarke, saddened.

“Anything?” Nigel said.

“I will know once I've gathered evidence.” Clarke said.

Nigel shook his head, disappointed.

“Poor Issac, it's a miracle he's alive.” Nigel said. “Elizabeth left a moment ago on her way to London. I don't think there is much a doctor can do to be honest, but she needs hope in a time like this.”

“I'm going to gather what I can at the residence.” Clarke said. “Tell me if Mr. Harper's condition has changed.”

“Will do.” He said.

***

Clarke stepped out of the inn and bumped into Wellington as he made his way inside. He groaned and clutched his shoulder.

“I'm sorry, I didn't – ”

“It's alright.” He said.

“Are you injured?” Clarke said.

Wellington chuckled.

“Ah, I hurt myself chopping down trees this morning.” He said, with a shrug. “It isn't anything a few day's rest can fix. Now, excuse me.”

“Um, Wellington,” Clarke called, watching him turn around. “I'm sure you heard of the attack last night?”

Wellington sighed, his face grave and sad.

“Oh I have.” He said. “Mr. Harper will he...he's alive?”

Clarke nodded. Wellington let out a sigh of relief.

“Mrs. Harper is a mess I'm sure.” He said. “I do hope you find this beast in time.”

“Thank you Mr. Smith.” Clarke said, walking on to the dirt trail.

She took her time to examine the floor for any signs of footprints or blood. When she reached the house she found traces of saliva on the bits of the door frame. Followed by the trails of blood. She walked back out around the house to the next opening in the side of it and found thick drops of blood. She collected what she could on a piece of cloth and stuffed it into a vial. She came back to collect the saliva samples before following the blood trail. The drops of blood seeped into the dirt, but contrasted against patches of grass. Clarke stopped at the edge of the forrest to see the trunk of the tree torn and covered in scratch marks. The branches above her head broken and hanging by a thread in pieces. Clarke exited the forrest, heading back to the inn. She made her way toward her room when Lexa stepped out of her father's room.

“Clarke, my father has gotten worse.” Lexa said.

Clarke entered the room to see Mr. Harper awake in a coughing fit, ghostly pale, and drenched in sweat. He had a cloth on his forehead to keep him cool. A bowl stood beside him. Lexa bit her bottom lip, fearful but a calmer exterior.

“I must check his wound, if that's alright?” Clarke said.

Lexa nodded. Clarke moved back the blanket and tenderly peeled off the cloth wrapped around his side. Mr. Harper groaned. The blood had crusted and the bleeding stopped. Clarke took a piece of cloth tucked in her satchel and dipped it into the water. She cleaned the wound and frowned.

“What is it?” Lexa said.

“The wound has already healed.” Clarke said.

Lexa gulped. Clarke put the cloth beside the bowl and stood.

“It's started?” Lexa said.

“I'm afraid so.” Clarke said.

Lexa stared at her father, tears glistened in her eyes. The look of utter despair on her face. Clarke could never get used to delivering bad news no matter how long she's been in this field of work. Lexa faced her. Issac grunted as he struggled to sit up. Lexa went to his side, stroking his shoulder.

“Father, lie still. You're in no state to move.” Lexa said.

“You can't let me live like this.” Issac said. “Please, listen to me Lexa. I know what's happening to me and I...this curse is no way to live.”

Lexa frowned, shaking her head. Issac gripped her wrist. She sighed, wiping away her tears.

“No, this isn't – ”

“Lexa, be strong.” Issac said. “Understand I put everyone in this village at risk. Ellie, your mother, I could not bare the guilt should I be what kills them.”

“Don't speak like that.” Lexa said.

Issac sniffled.

“Please understand.” Issac said. “I want you to do it. Just promise you'll find the beast that terrorized us.”

Lexa cupped a hand over her mouth, hiccuping as she weeped and nodded. Issac firmly squeezed her wrist.

“I promise.” Lexa said.

She broke his grip and rushed out of the room. Clarke followed after her. She jogged after her as Lexa turned the corner and placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned Lexa around.

“Lexa – ”

“How could he?” Lexa said, distraught. “How could he possibly expect me to do this and with mother gone?”

“I know this is difficult. I wish there is another way but there is no cure for this affliction.” Clarke said.

Lexa scoffed, roughly wiping away her tears with a glare.

“And how would you know this is difficult?” Lexa said. “It's easy for you to kill a beast, none of them were your father.”

Clarke remained silent a moment. She knew Lexa had a lot to take in. The attack on her family. Her father's injury and now fetal fate of a werewolf's curse. She had plenty of reason to be angry too.

“That's not true.” Clarke said.

Lexa's frown dropped. Clarke's calm demeanor changed to a more timid defeated stance.

“When I was a girl, I was my father get slaughtered by a group of vampires.” Clarke said. “And every time I...wished I could saved him, but I had just been a child. I had no way of helping him”

“Did you ever catch them?” Lexa said.

Clarke shook her head.

“But my travels have brought me all over the globe to help others who have suffered like I have.” Clarke said.

“And you settle for that type of closure?” Lexa said.

“I haven't but mother is a different story.” Clarke said.

Lexa's anger washed away.

“I'm sorry.” She said. “I shouldn't have – ”

“It's alright. I should address everyone at the inn and leave you to your father.” Clarke said.

They parted ways. Down at the main entrance of the inn everyone sat at the benches with drinks or meals, waiting for Clarke's arrival. Nigel greeted her with a pint of warm ale before taking his place back behind the counter.

“I'm sure you're all aware of last night's attack.” Clarke said. “Rest assured, Mr. Harper is alive although not well and will see a doctor as soon as Mrs. Harper returns.”

“What will we do? It's attacked us in our own homes.” Monty said.

Clarke nodded. The tension between the village people had been full of fear since the morning. Their homes wouldn't be able to keep a beast as massive as the werewolf out. But they had no other way of defending themselves unless they leave their homes. An option neither nor Lord Gustus wouldn't like.

“I think it's best everyone stay at the inn. We have a better chance of protecting ourselves.” Clarke said. “That means every door and window is to be barricade tonight.”

Jasper scoffed.

“You can't be serious?” He said.

The room filled with chatter. The villagers looking at each other and upset.

“I understand this isn't what neither of you want to do.” Clarke said. “But it is the best option. I can protect you.”

Jasper let out a laugh.

“And how could someone as puny as you can do that?” He said. “The beast tore the farmhands apart.”

Clarke sighed.

“I have ways of defending myself. Right now everyone needs to be here.” She said. “It has also come to my attention that tomorrow is the full moon. That means the beast will be much stronger and much more violent.”

Monty shrugged.

“I have spare silver bullets. We have nothing else to do unless you all want to flee the village?” He said.

Wellington stood.

“Alright, I'll get my things before sundown.” He said.

The villagers filled out toward the entrance. Clarke looked them over.

“Where is Mr. Snow?” Clarke said.

Nigel frowned.

“He seemed persistent to not attend this meeting.” He said. “He's probably back at his house. Shall I get him?”

“No need Nigel, I'll stop by.” Wellington said.

Clarke headed back toward her room. Nigel approached her, frustrated and glum.

“Do you think this will work?” He said. “Everyone is scared out of their wits. Maybe the best thing to do is leave.”

“I plan to deal with this tonight.” Clarke said. “I just need some more time.”

Nigel sighed.

“Be careful Clarke.” He said.

She made her way upstairs. Lexa exited her father's room, her jaw clenched and determined.

“I'm coming with you.” She said.

Clarke knew if she were to deal with two of them she couldn't do so alone. While she had been skilled to deal with all sorts of monsters the more help she had the better the outcome. Clarke nodded. Issac let out a groan of pain. He arched up, gripping the bedsheets and yelling in pain. Lexa held his hand and noticed the black veins through his skin appearing again.

“Don't leave me like this.” Issac gasped.

“It'll be any time now when he shifts.” Clarke said.

Lexa watched her father shake in pain before stopping and panting. His condition had been worsening every second.

“Lexa, there's one more thing.” Clarke said.

“The full moon is tomorrow. I know.” Lexa said.

Clarke looked down to the floor, bitting her bottom lip. She tried dealing with this gently, but there wouldn't be anymore time before Issac changed.

“We have to deal with this.” Clarke said.

Lexa weeped, nodding and inhaling to contain herself.

“I promised I would.” Lexa said.

Clarke came over, handing her a silver knife. Lexa clutched it, looking at her father. He laid resting, his skin covered in sweat, still pale, and his breathing labored. Clarke closed the room door.

“Father,” Lexa whispered.

He stirred, opening his eyes and coughed. She brushed a hand over his forehead. His skin hot with a on going fever that wouldn't go down.

“I...” Lexa said, looking at her knife.

“It's okay.” Issac said. “I forgive you.”

Lexa wiped her tears. Issac struggled to shift himself up to prop against the headboard. Lexa helped him sit up.

“You can't tell your mother.” Issac said. “She wouldn't understand.”

Lexa nodded.

“And your sister, Ellie will – ”

“I'll handle it, I promise.” Lexa said. “I'll take care of them.”

Issac hugged her, stroking Lexa's back.

“I couldn't have asked for a better daughter than you.” Issac said.

Lexa sobbed and jerked the knife upward between Issac's sternum. He let out a grunt, gripping Lexa's arms and Lexa felt the blade slip out. She thrust it into him again and he let out a gasp before laying limp into her arms. Lexa held him, crying and dropped the blood covered knife to the ground. Clarke wiped her tears away, remaining silent by the door.

 

***

Lexa insisted they bury Issac themselves. Jasper would be too drunk by now to work on the body. But he didn't ask any questions when he was called to load the body on a stretcher to bring to the cemetery. Ellie had been inconsolable and while Lexa should be the same, mourning their death she had joined Clarke on tonight's patrol. They walked through the village with their lanterns and guns in hand. Clarke had a belt full of pouches with bottles inside as Lexa heard them clink each time they walked.

“Are you sure you should be with – ” Clarke said.

“Yes.” Lexa said. “Finding this werewolf is the only thing keeping me together and I rather not talk about anything else.”

Clarke sighed. They traveled through the homes twice before heading toward the bridge and forrest. So far there had been no sign of the beast, but there had suddenly been a moment of completely silence. Not a single bird or cricket creaked and Clarke rested a hand on her gun handle while the other had been on one of her pouches.

“Do you hear that?” Clarke said.

Lexa looked through the forrest, her lantern lifted above her head. A scream sounded from the forrest and then a howl.

“It's coming from William's house.” Clarke said.

Lexa dashed toward the house with Clarke behind her, the flare of her red cloak behind her. They reached the house to see the fire inside still burning but the front door wide open.

“Lexa, don't!” Clarke said.

She entered the house and William, who sad against the wall of his house with his gun drawn, shot. Clarke lifted her cloak, shielding Lexa with it and the bullet ricocheted off the cloth and through a window. Clarke brought down her cloak as Lexa looked at her stunned. William yelped, struggling to get himself to stand. His leg injured and covered in blood.

“William, don't move.” Clarke said.

He shrugged Clarke off, leaning against the wall as he stood. His gun tightly in his hand. Lexa examined the house, seeing a bunch of broken pottery and glass.

“What happened?” Lexa said.

“I was attacked.” William grumbled. “T-The beast, it...went after me while I was on my way to the inn.”

“It bite you?” Clarke said, alarmed.

“Scratched me.” William said. “I need to stop the bleeding.”

Clarke looked at Lexa, alarmed. She held his arm and guided him to the kitchen table. Lexa sifted through the shelves for cloth.

“I have wrappings in the bottom shelf.” William said.

Clarke lifted up his pants to see a four inch slash on his calf.

“We have to stauch his wound.” Clarke said.

She opened one of her pouches and sprinkled ashes on it. Then wrapped it with the cloth wrappings. William cringed.

“Did you see who it was?” Lexa said.

William sighed, picking up a knocked over bottle of ale and opened it to take a swig. He wiped away the sweat from his brow.

“Yes, I saw him. It was – ”

A snarl sounded from outside of the house. Clarke and Lexa stood. William pulled himself up, limping away to the nearest wall. Lexa and Clarke drew out their guns, listening to the sound of the wolf's footsteps. They stopped and they stood in silence, waiting for the wolf to move again. The wall next to William broke as the werewolf burst through it and raced across the room. William screamed as it pounced on him, ripping his teeth into his neck. Blindly, he fired, the gun shooting at Lexa's shoulder. She bent over in paint, clutching her shoulder.

“Lexa!” Clarke said.

William stopped screaming and the wolf ran off with William's body.

“I'm fine. Leave me!” Lexa said.

Clarke paused. Lexa clenched her teeth and groaned.

“Get the wolf Clarke!” She said.

Clarke ran off, seeing the trail of blood and entrails on the ground. The blood led deeper through the trees followed by pieces of body parts. Clarke stopped into an opening of the forrest with all the trees torn down and William's severed toros on the ground. She stood in the center of the opening, squinting into the dark with her lantern. A low rumble of a growl came from above the trees. She saw a pair of glowing orange eyes and then the glisten of teeth. The wolf let out another snarl. Clarke put down her lantern. The wolf roared and leaped down toward her. Clarke lifted her hands and watched the wolf bounce back as if it hit a solid wall and shook his head on impact. The wolf looked confused and stared at Clarke before circling her. Clarke watched the wolf jump two more times and stood roaring and frustrated. As it crouched to jump again Clarke took her knife and waited. As the wolf leaped a third time she put down her hand to let it charge. She side stepped and swiped her knife, slicing one of its toes and the wolf whimpered. It slid across the dirt as it landed and nearly knocked over a tree on impact. The werewolf stood, snarling at her before leaving.

“Clarke?”

Lexa wedged her way through the tree trunks.

“Over here.” Clarke said, picking up the severed paw foot.

She watched it shift into a human pinky finger. Lexa came to her with the lantern and paused to see the finger in her hand.

“W-What?” Lexa said.

“This is our village wolf.” Clarke said, putting the finger into her pouch.


	5. Part V

Lexa grunted as Clarke cleaned the wound on her shoulder blade. She had insisted before returning to the inn she take care of Lexa's injury. The bullet had not gone clean through. Clarke paused, seeing her flinch as she used her forceps to enter the wound. Lexa looked back at her, her jaw clenched.

“Are you alright?” Clarke said. “This is very painful, I'm sure.”

Lexa exhaled.

“I have a high tolerance.” She said. “Shouldn't we be worried the beast will strike again?”

“No need. I've placed wolfsbane at the door and windows. Werewolves can't stand the smell. We'll be safe for now.” Clarke said.

Lexa glanced at the purple flower hanging above the door with a raised brow.

“Wolfsbane? Will it last?” Lexa said.

“It's temporary.” Clarke admitted. “The fresher the plant the higher the potency, but like all flowers they decay.”

Lexa smiled, glancing back at her.

“You've come quite prepared.”

Clarke chuckled.

“I do hate surprises.” She said.

Clarke peeled back Lexa's dresser a little farther down. The blood of the wound slowing but the skin around the gaping wound red and swollen.

“How did you learn to tend to wounds?” Lexa said.

Lexa brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. She clenched the edge of her chair as the foreceps pulled out the bullet.

“My mother.” Clarke said. “She worked the front desk of her father's doctor office, but she picked up a few things as they were short nurses.”

Clarke put the bullet on the table coated in blood and took out her bottle of salve.

“It was before he married a Baroness.” Clarke said. “She loved the work, but he eventually banned her from attending the office.”

Clarke smeared the salve on the wound and Lexa groaned. She took her wrappings dressed the wound. Chatter of the villager's cut through the forrest and Clarke saw the flickering lights of their lanterns in the distance from the opened door. Clarke helped Lexa redress.

“You'll make a full recovery. You're lucky no internal damage was done to any vital organs.” Clarke said.

“Thank you.” Lexa said.

“Ms. Griffin, are you in there?” Nigel said. “We heard gunfire.”

“Oh quit you're worrying. She's as good as dead in there.” Jasper said. “Everyone heard the beast.”

“Quiet Jasper.” Monty said.

Lexa rolled her eyes.

“I'm alright.” Clarke said.

Nigel let out a cry of relief and dashed into the hut. He scanned the hut to see the place in pieces with the blood along the floor.

“You're hurt?” He said.

“It was Mr. Snow.” Lexa said. “We tried to save him, but...the beast got to him.”

Nigel frowned.

“Is there anything left to bury?” Jasper said.

Monty nudged him.

“I'll take you there.” Clarke said. “I should warn you, it's a grisly sight.”

***

Jasper worked on the body to prepare the burial for the afternoon. Clarke and Lexa returned back to the inn. Nigel had offered them drinks, but with the sun rising soon they both declined in need of sleep. They head up toward the spare rooms. Clarke untied her pouches and placed them on the desk. She sorted through her ingredients and the samples from the hut.

“You should rest.”

Clarke turned around to see Lexa in the door way.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude.” Lexa said.

Clarke stood.

“It's alright. Come in.” She said, closing the door once Lexa entered. “You're right, I should be sleeping, but I...with Mr. Snow's death I feel responsible.”

Lexa sighed.

“Clarke please, we've done what we could.” She said.

Clarke nodded and returned back to her desk. Lexa looked over the bowls and herbs set there.

“I know, but tomorrow is the full moon.” Clarke said. “These people, everyone is at risk. The beast will – ”

Lexa chuckled and smiled.

“You're far too harsh on yourself than you should be.” Lexa said. “You've never come this close than the last hunter to finding this beast. But what good is it to be hunting when you're exhausted?”

Clarke sighed, leaning against the desk. Lexa smiled.

“I worry.” Clarke said.

“As you should be.” Lexa said.

Lexa approached her, looking Clarke over. The pinch of her brows as she filled with concern and running thoughts of fear. While Clarke would never admit something as that so openly, Lexa knew she was scared. She had no idea what would happen to these people and that their fate's were placed in Clarke's hands.

“You will catch them.” Lexa said.

“You seem so certain.” Clarke said.

“I mean you did just take on a werewolf on your own in the forest. That does put things into perspective about you.” Lexa said, with a smile. “I must say, your determination is one of your most charming traits.”

Clarke blushed. Lexa leaned forward, latching her hand around Clarke's wrist. She rubbed her thumb over the back of her palm. Clarke sharply inhaled. Lexa's lips pressed against hers and Clarke's shoulders loosened at the tender touch of their kiss. The contact lasting mere seconds before Lexa stepped back. Clarke gulped.

“Good night Clarke.” Lexa said.

Clarke felt her face flushed with heat and she glanced down at the floor.

“Good night.” She said.

She watched Lexa leave before Clarke braced herself against the desk to calm her racing heart.

 

***

“Ah, there you are.” Nigel said, watching Clarke enter the inn entrance.

“I've slept in. I apologize.” Clarke said.

Nigel scoffed.

“No need, you've been through quite the ordeal last night.” Nigel said. “I'll have you a hot meal in a moment.”

Clarke scanned the inn to see it empty save for Olivia and Ellie.

“Nigel, is Lexa here?” Clarke said.

He handed her a cup of tea.

“She went to attend the burial like everyone else.” He said. “It should be over soon.”

“When she returns have her meet me in my bedroom. I will be working on my investigation.” Clarke said, turning back toward the stairs with her tea.

“Will do.” Nigel said.

 

***

Clarke sorted through her suitcase to gather her herbs. She took her time crushing them into her mortar before putting in the cloth of blood and saliva. She continued to grind them into a thick paste. She put the severed finger in next when there was a knock on her door. It opened before she answered.

“You wanted to see me?” Lexa said.

She noticed the bowl. Clarke turned around.

“You practice witchcraft?” Lexa said.

She stood, her hands timidly clasped together. Very few have known her practice as it had been largely shunned, but Clarke had been sure with Lexa it would be different. Clarke nodded.

“Are you – ”

“Yes.” Clarke said.

“No wonder there was something different about you.” Lexa said.

Clarke raised a brow.

“It doesn't bother you?” She said.

Lexa chuckled.

“I've seen a werewolf and have been told vampires are real. I think I can manage this.” Lexa said. “Beside, I know for myself you mean well.”

Clarke smiled.

“What do you plan to do with this?” Lexa asked.

Clarke faced her desk. She struck a match.

“This will allow me to see the aura of the werewolf even in human form.” Clarke said.

“Be careful Clarke. Sundown is soon.” Lexa said.

Clarke dropped the match into the bowl saying, “I know, but I have you to assist me.”

The bowl flared with a green flame and the finger shrunk and turned into char as it burned. Clarke chanted over the bowl, inhaling the smoke several times before the flame finally died down. A wisp of black smoke emitting from the bowl. Clarke exhaled and opened her eyes.

“Did it work?” Lexa said.

Clarke faced her and Lexa stepped back to see smoldering purple glowing eyes. The glow dimmed before turning back to blue eyes but a flicker of purple glimmered from it occasionally.

“I see the trail.” Clarke said.

She picked up her gun from her desk and put it into her holster. Lexa followed after her as she raced through the inn and out along the dirt trail.

“What do you see?” Lexa said.

Clarke stopped on the path, looking around the village.

“The aura is everywhere.” Clarke said.

She took a deep breath, focusing and watched the scatter of purple light gather together into a thick single path. Clarke turned back around, following it.

“Clarke, wait, that's – ”

“Wellington.” Clarke whispered.

They stood in front of his house, Clarke looking back at Lexa who looked stern and battle ready. Clarke knocked on his door. It slowly opened and Wellington peaked out with a scowl on his face.

“May I help you?” He said.

“Wellington, I um, do you mind we have a word?” Clarke said.

He glared.

“I'm busy. Come back another time.” He said.

He went to close the door and Lexa pressed her hand against it, pushing it back open. He groaned as the door jabbed into his shoulder.

“Mr. Smith, if you will, it's urgent.” Lexa said.

He looked them over.

“Very well.” He said.

He opened the door and they entered to see the house cold and dark with the fire out. Clothes laid on the floor and bottles of ale strewn about. Wellington kept his right hand tucked close to his chest. He cringed as he moved.

“Is something wrong Mr. Smith?” Clarke said.

Wellington pulled out a chair from the table and shook his head.

“I...haven't been feeling well.” He said.

Clarke sat across from him and Lexa stood beside her.

“Have you seen a doctor?” Clarke said.

Wellington groaned again as he shifted in his seat.

“I'm much too ill to go into the city.” He said.

Lexa looked at him, skeptical.

“You seem to be in a great deal of pain as well.” She said.

Wellington chuckled and shook his head.

“Field work is exhausting.” He said.

“Do you mind showing us your arm Mr. Smith?” Lexa said.

Clarke looked at her, alarmed. Wellington let out a nervous laugh.

“I appreciate your concern, but there is nothing you can do.” He said. “I'll have a doctor come some time this week.”

Wellington looked at her with a stiff smile. Lexa's eyes narrowed, studying him and he gulped.

“I insist. It could help aid the investigation.” Clarke said.

Wellington shifted again. Slowly, he lifted his right arm and pulled back the sleeve of his coat. A blood covered wrapping tied around his fingers. He growled and yanked out a knife.

“Clarke, watch out!” Lexa said, diving to knock Clarke the ground as the kitchen knife was tossed at her.

Clarke grunted, winded as she hit the floor with Lexa on top of her. The table was flipped over and Wellington removed his coat. He removed his shirt to show wrappings on his chest and shoulders from previous wounds.

“I suppose I shouldn't have expected you to not find out.” He said, removing the wrappings.

The wounds healed, but the one on his hand still new. He ripped it off, flexing his fingers.

“And your bloody silver makes healing a lot slower.” He said.

Lexa stood, facing him.

“It was you who killed them.” She said.

Wellington laughed.

“I was bitten six months ago.” He said. “The first farmhand was an accident. I had no idea this transformation would happen to me, but I've come to really enjoy the hunt.”

“You killed my father!” Lexa said.

Wellington shrugged.

“The beast eats what it craves.” He said.

Clarke got to her feet. Lexa pulled out her gun and pointed it at him.

“Lexa, don't.” Clarke said.

She fired and Wellington dodged the first two rounds before the third nicked his bicep. He flinched.

“Enough with the silver!” He said.

He charged her. Lexa yelped as she collided with his shoulder and hit the wall of the hut. It caved on impact bringing them outside to the ground. Lexa kicked him to get enough space to pull out her knife and cut his ribs. Wellington yelped and go to his feet.

“This isn't over!” He said, running through the thicket of trees.

“Lexa! Stop, you can't go against him.” Clarke said. “We have to prepare.”

Lexa faced her, angry and shaking.

“The full moon is approaching he's too strong now.” She said.

“I can handle him.” Lexa said.

“Please, let's go inside. I can prepare spells and bullets before we chase after him.” Clarke said. “I don't need another death on my hands.”

“I can't let him go Clarke. He killed my father.” Lexa said.

“I understand, please, we just need to be better prepared.” Clarke insisted.

Lexa watched the sun set, sinking behind the pasture and a light flurry of snow sprinkled down to the ground.

Lexa sighed.

“Okay.” She said.

 

***

Lexa paced Clarke's bedroom as she made the last of her potions. The village was filled with panic and disbelief once it was announced that Wellington had been the town beast. But that left the question, who was the other werewolf? Clarke had been certain there was two as given the evidence from her first spell. That was something she'd have to look into once she's stopped Wellington. They went back downstairs, with guns and knives.

“Clarke,” Nigel said, approaching her. He pulled her into a hug. “Please be careful. I...just please, be careful.”

Clarke nodded.

“I will stop him.” She said.

Nigel sighed. Lexa and Clarke left the inn. Clarke held the lantern as Lexa walked ahead scouting the grounds. It won't be long before the full moon is in the night sky.

“We should check the forest.” Clarke said. “He wouldn't dare to bring the fight to us.”

Lexa scoffed.

“Of course not. The forest is his element.” Lexa said.

They headed toward the bridge. They walked passed William's hut, still broken but barren. Lexa lead them toward William's shed, twelve paces away from his hut. Clarke scanned the area. A thick smothering silence filled the forrest. The reflection of the moon picking up off the snow on the ground. A howl filled the air.

“Clarke, stay back.” Lexa said.

“We stand a better chance working together.” Clarke said.

A growl sounded behind them and Clarke spun around. The lantern shaking in her hand.

“He's close.” Clarke said.

They flinched as a gust of wind flushed passed them. Lexa spun around to catch the smear of a black shadow and pulled out her gun. Clarke's lantern rattled.

“There!” She pointed into the distance.

Lexa made out the glowing orange eyes of the wolf, peering behind the tree trunks. Then it turned around, sprinting in the opposite direction.

“I'm not letting him get away this time.” Lexa hissed.

She raced after it.

“Lexa!” Clarke called.

She ran after her, struggling to keep up. The wind and snow blurring her vision. The snow had picked up, making it difficult to see 10 feet away. Clarke sighed and paused, holding her lantern up.

“Lexa?” She said.

The whizz of the wind filling in the silence. She made her way through a clearing in the trees, to come across a frozen lake. The reflection of the moon scattered on the surface. Clarke felt herself knock over as the tuft of fur blocked her view. She hit the ground with a groan and winded. The lantern fell, smashing and spilling oil and fire on to the dirt. Clarke had little space to pull out her gun and pressed her hand against the wolf's chest before giving it a shove. Her hands sparked yellow and the wolf flew back, scattering across the floor. Clarke stood. The wolf, black in color, faced her with its jagged teeth. It snarled before it was tackled by another wolf and slammed on to its back. Clarke stood, shocked to see the second wolf was light shade of grey in color. Its eyes yellow. They rolled around the dirt, kicking up patches of grass and earth. Clarke pulled out her gun. She ran back as she saw the black wolf kick the second one off, sending it through the air. It landed a foot in front of Clarke and wobbled back on its four legs, growling. They charged at each other, snarling and roaring. Clarke shot at them but the bullet missed. She fired again, hitting the grey wolf on the leg. It whimpered and bucked, giving a enough time for the other wolf to bite its back and toss it aside into a tree. The trunk fell over on top of it. The black wolf looked at her, prowling. Clarke fished out a glass bottle and threw it to the ground. It shattered and sprayed the wolf. It growled in pain, shrinking back.

“Liquid silver.” Clarke said.

It shook his head before dashing at her. The second wolf slid across the dirt, blocking Clarke. Clarke looked at it confused. A wolf has never tried to help her. They leaped at each other again, paws slashing and biting. They yelped and snarled. Large drops of pitch black blood speckled along the ground. The white of the snow highlight the blood shed. Clarke watched the grey wolf grab the werewolf by the neck and twist with a sickening snap. It laid limp in its mouth and hit the floor. The wolf tore into chunks of skin and fur, scattering it across the ground. The patch of snow around them completely covered in blood. Clarke aimed her gun. The wolf huffed, looking at Clarke and slowly approached her.

“Stay back!” She yelled.

The wolf paused, taking several more small steps before stopping in front of Clarke. She watched the wolf sit and begin to shrink in size. It grumbled as the bones cracked back into place and the fur disappear. Clarke gasped. Staring back at her, had now been the same expressive green eyes, this time full of fear and concern.

“Lexa?” She whispered.

Lexa stood, wiping away the blood from her mouth. Her hands equally blood and naked, but unaffected from the chill of the night. A puff of steam surrounded her as she radiated heat.

“W-What?”

Clarke stepped back.

“It was you?”

“Clarke, please.” Lexa said.

“How...is this possible?” Clarke said.

Clarke lifted her gun. Lexa lifted her hands, frozen. She noticed the scars of claw marks along Lexa's forearms.

“I'm not like Wellington, okay?” She said.

“You're a werewolf! You are exactly the same.” Clarke said.

“Yes, I am, but I can control it. Clarke, I can willingly shift.” Lexa said. “Except come the full moon, but it doesn't last.”

Clarke raised a brow.

“How is that possible?” She said.

“I don't know, but I won't hurt you. I swear it!” Lexa said. “Clarke, please, trust me.”

Clarke's eyes watered. She had not been prepared for this. A werewolf who could change at will but still remain in control of the beast. But then there had been other instance. The wolfsbane had little affect on her. The silver bullet. Clarke noticed the gauze had been torn off on her chest and the wound long gone. Shouting from the distance interrupted them and the flame of torches through the trees.

“Clarke? Lexa?” Nigel called.

Clarke looked at Lexa, worry on her face. If they found out Lexa had been the other beast they wouldn't hesitate to kill her. Clarke wiped away her unshed tears.

“Go. Get out of here.” Clarke said. “If they find out it's you they'll kill you.”

Lexa nodded and shifted again before racing off into the trees. Clarke lifted her gun into the air and fired.

“Clarke!”

The crunch of twigs rustled from the forest. Nigel and Monty came into the clearing, their guns up.

“Are you alright?” Monty said.

Nigel gasped at the blood. They ran over to her.

“Are you hurt?” Nigel said.

Monty followed the blood marks and stood, floored at the guts and body parts.

“It was Wellington?” Monty said.

“And the second beast?” Nigel said.

Clarke put away her gun.

“I shot it. It ran away.” She said. “It's dead. I hit its heart.”

Nigel sighed, relieved and put his gun down.

“Let's get inside. It's freezing.” He said.

Clarke trailed behind them, looking through the trees and saw the flicker of yellow eyes watching her. She turned back around.

 

***

Clarke packed the last of her belongings into her suitcase. She hadn't seen Lexa all morning. The rest of the villager heard about Wellington. They didn't ask about the second werewolf, believing Clarke dealt with it as she claimed. Clarke stayed around for the morning hoping to see Lexa again. But when noon came around and everyone went back to their work and Lexa still hadn't shown Clarke decided it was best she leave. She had little sleep, unsure if she should deal with Lexa herself or leave it be. Lexa had went against what she knew about werewolves and for that Clarke had many questions about such abilities she's gained. Clarke finished her lunch and paid Nigel before returning back to her room to get her suitcase. Lexa stood at the desk, timid and tense. Clarke stood by the door. They looked at each other, unsure how to approach their much needed conversation.

“You're leaving now?” Lexa said.

Clarke nodded. Lexa sighed.

“Mother returned from London. She didn't take the news well about father.” Lexa said. “She's relieved about Wellington.”

Clarke scoffed.

“I suppose everyone is in some way.” She said.

“I um...I'm sorry Clarke, about not telling you.” Lexa said. “I wasn't sure how'd you take it.”

“We all have secrets.” Clarke said.

“Like you being a witch.” Lexa said. “You probably would have never told me, would you? But you trusted me enough to show me. Is that different now?”

Clarke sat on her bed. It had been a common practice to not tell anyone of her magic use. Yet Lexa understood and accepted it, much how she did about werewolves and vampires. She had been different in more ways than one. She didn't regret doing so, but that was what startled her. How she had no regrets sharing what she did with Lexa, right down to their kiss. Clarke gulped.

“May I ask you something?” Clarke said.

“Of course.”

“Did you kill those farmhands?” She said.

“No.” Lexa said. “The beast does not control me like that. I still have control over its mind. I am still me when I shift.”

“Do you have any idea how unusual that is?” Clarke said.

Lexa nodded.

“I do now.” She said. “I was hoping with time I'd learn more about that and hopefully a cure?”

“How long has this affliction last?” Clarke said.

“Ten years.” Lexa said. “It isn't something to boast about nor is it easy.”

Clarke stood.

“I could imagine.”

“Are you going to leave me be then?” Lexa said.

“I see no reason to kill you, Lexa.” Clarke said.

Lexa sighed and approached her. Clarke tensed up, looking back at her but kept her hands at her side.

“It's just...I can't settle here.” Lexa said. “And I spoke to mother. She doesn't like it, but she always knew how I wanted to leave this place and be a part of something bigger. Explore the world.”

“What are you...” Clarke said.

“I want to travel with you.” Lexa said. “I want to see these monsters and face them with you. I can help others like this village. I have strength and abilities I want to use for the greater good for once.”

Clarke looked surprised. She wouldn't have expected this.

“You're sure?” Clarke said. “It isn't easy and it's absolutely dangerous.”

Lexa chuckled.

“I should hope not, but I can handle it. I'll be learning from the best.” She said.

Clarke smiled.

“I can share what I know.” She said. “You should start packing. I have to see Lord Gustus before we leave for France.”

Lexa grinned saying, “Oh I already did.”

Clarke raised a brow.

“You were that certain I'd say yes?” She said. “Aren't you cocky.”

Lexa laughed.

“I was counting on you to say yes.” She said.

“In that case let's be on our way then.” Clarke said.

Lexa said her goodbyes again to her mother and Ellie before picking up her suitcase from their room. Clarke and Lexa went down to the main entrance of the inn. Nigel had been at the desk and approached her. He pulled Clarke into a hug and sighed.

“I am forever in your gratitude.” He said. “I'm going to miss having you around.”

“I would say I hope we meet again, but that would mean another beast is afoot.” Clarke said, with a laugh. “Take care Nigel.”

He pulled Lexa into a longer hug and sighed before parting with a teary face.

“Take care of this one huh?” He chuckled. “She's a bit of a trouble maker, but Lexa means well.”

Lexa laughed.

“Oh Nigel, I'm not 8 anymore.” He said.

“No of course not, you've grown into a fine woman.” He said. “Safe travels you two.”

They gave him one last hug and exited the inn. Nigel had been kind enough to get a driver out front for them. Clarke approached it to see George on top holding the horse reigns.

“George, we meet again.” Clarke said.

He did a double take before smiling.

“You're...by god you're still alive? Did you catch the beast?” He said.

Lexa entered the carriage. Clarke chuckled looking back at her. Lexa smiled, her eyes glimmering yellow.

“You could say that.” Clarke said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that wraps up this piece. I've already got another piece on this universe in the works. I have a bunch of notes and plot line. Now it's just up to me to write it and get it how I want it. I've thought of adding some new things to it such as what possible abilities Lexa would have but that's still in the works. Thanks for reading.


End file.
